


Blank

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Freeform, Ghost!Dave, M/M, Mental Hospital, Mentions of Suicide, Post SBURB, Unstable John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they’d leave you’d crawl into your bed and stare at the walls. The walls you wished were filled with movie posters, or splattered with cake, or scribbled with clown drawings. Anything that wasn’t blank. Because that was sort of how you felt.<br/>Blank. Empty. Closed in. Like you were trapped in a never ending cue ball.<br/>But Dave would lie next to you.<br/>And if you imagined really hard you could pretend he was actually there.</p><p>(inspired by a picture on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank

**Author's Note:**

> You can choose to view this as John actually being insane, or post SBURB. It's pretty freeform-ish, so just the heads up there. It was inspired by a picture of John in a straight jacket going around Tumblr, which I sadly didn't have the sense to like or reblog so I could know who the artist was, so credit goes the the creator of that.
> 
> Enjoy-

You didn’t kill him.

Not him.

Not your own father.

You were sure of it.

He was everything to you.

Your only family.

You would never hurt him.

But you know what did.

The game killed him.

The game killed everything.

But you had won!

You had reset it!

You had returned to the past!

But they don’t believe you.

They never believed you.  
And how could you blame them?

A thirteen year old young man, standing alone in his bedroom.

On his birthday.

While his father, who had been baking in the kitchen before the apocalypse, lay dead on the floor.

“THE GAME!” you had screamed at them.

Over and over and over.

“THE GAME KILLED US ALL!”

And they didn’t believe you.

Because it was just a game after all, right?

And besides, in this reset universe, the game hadn’t even existed.

“There’s no such thing.” soon turned too “He’s not quite right.”

You were a thirteen year old murderer after all. 

No, no, you weren’t.

That’s just what they said.

You are a hero.

You were a hero.

Now you’re just a shell.

But you kept telling them.

The game existed.

You played it.

You and your friends played it.

You caused the apocalypse.

You saved the universe.

But they simply shook their heads.

Scribbled notes on clipboards.

Sent you to offices with cold tables and stern interrogators. 

You told them more about your friends.

Their names.

Where they lived.

But they told you to stop making things up.

Jade Harley didn’t exist.

Rose Lalonde had been missing for weeks.

Dave Strider had committed suicide.

You tried to tell them about Jade and her island.

That that was probably where they were.

That they should let you see your friends!

But they told you again.

Jade doesn’t exist.

Rose is missing.

Dave is dead.

All since the thirteenth of April.

You refused to believe.

And so you were shuttled away.

To a big white building with big white walls and big white hallways.

Where they set you down, alone, in a big white room.

And they would bring you food.

And people would come and talk to you.

But really just criticize your fantasies.

No, they weren’t fantasies, they were real.

You hoped they were real.

And there you stayed, hollow-eyed and sullen-faced.

Until you decided to just give up.

And maybe start to believe what they told you.

Maybe you were just crazy.

And this was some strange cover-up your mind had crafted to hide what you’d done to your father.

But no, the images and horrors of what had happened to you in the game remained.

“Bec Noir killed him.”

They’d asked who Bec Noir was.

“A giant black dog beast. He killed Rose’s mom too.”

They’d given you a pitying look.

You had to admit the words sounded farfetched even to you.

And as you sat down in the blank room with nothing but a bed, you wondered.

Just wondered.

If maybe you simply were out of your mind.

But then a familiar voice would call out to you.

“You don’t actually believe that load of bullshit, do you?”

And you’d give a weak smile at the sunglasses setting on a determined face.

“I’m serious, dude. I know it happened.”

And you’d nod.

And he’d tell you about the game, like he always did.

Reassuring you that it all wasn’t just a dream.

Flickering in and out of existence like a flame.

You’d asked him once why he did that.

But he’d told you that you should have seen enough movies to know what a ghost looked like.

You’d asked him how he’d become a ghost.

And he’d told you that it was because he wasn’t strong enough.

Not as strong as you.

Not as strong as is bro.

You’d asked him if his bro had been dead like your father upon the reset of the game.

He’d told you he hadn’t cared enough to find out.

From what you could tell he’d taken his life almost the minute you’d returned.

Something about all the timelines coming together.

All the memories going into his head.

That he’d lost himself within the madness.

But you’d come to find out that he’d come here to protect you.

“You know, like a legit ghost story. Unfinished business and all that shit.”

And while you felt saddened of the events that had happened, it was nice to have his company.

He was the only one who believed you after all.

The only one who knew what you were going through.

But the people watching you grew concerned.

Your chats with Dave were one-sided from their prospective.

They’d ask you who you were talking to.

And you’d try to explain about Dave.

But they would sigh and make more notes.

While Dave would give this troubled expression that looked foreign on his face.

And when they’d leave you’d crawl into your bed.

And stare at the walls.

The walls you wished were filled with movie posters.

Or splattered with cake.

Or scribbled with clown drawings.

Anything that wasn’t blank.

Because that was sort of how you felt.

Blank.

Empty.

Closed in.

Like you were trapped in a never ending cue ball.

But Dave would lie next to you.

And if you imagined really hard you could pretend he was actually there.

And he’d bring his face close to yours.

And mutter all sorts of things.

“You don’t deserve this.”

“You’re better than this.”

“You’re a God, John.”

“You’re a hero.”

“You’re my hero.”

And if you weren’t so tired, you’d probably laugh at the cheesy line.

(If you could remember how to laugh.)

And if you didn’t have the swirling darkness crowding around your brain, you’d probably feel the feather light touch of his intangible lips against your own.

(If you could remember how to kiss.)

And if you didn’t want to just curl up into a hole and die, you’d probably hear him mutter his confession.

(If you could remember how to love.)

But you couldn’t remember anything.

Everything was a blur between reality and whatever SBURB could be classified as.

And you’d soon drifted into the nightmare-filled sleep that always haunted you.

But this time it was just black.

Black that filled you.

Seeped into your lungs.

Halted your breath.

And when you woke up Dave wasn’t there.

But on the inside of your head a voice rang out.

“You’re going to be okay.”

But you couldn’t remember what was wrong in the first place.

And when they came into analyze you there was no fight.

You answered their questions with straightforward answers.

And they asked you about your change of heart.

Why you weren’t ranting about “The Game” as they so mockingly put it.

And you told them you didn’t know.

And they made more notes.

But with hopeful expressions this time.

And they kept talking for longer than before.

And came in more often.

And continue to pester you about the events that had taken place on your thirteenth birthday.

But you explained you didn’t know.

It was just blank.

You were blank.

And they’d mutter amongst themselves for a bit, but then go back to praising you for your progress.

And time seemed to pass quicker.

And as you looked back on the stories you’d once spilled to them, you found them being just a little bit too impossible.

And they wholeheartedly agreed.

But they’re questions wouldn’t stop.

Once they’d asked you about Dave.

You asked them who that was.

“Never mind,” they’d said.

It became the standard response from when they’d ask anything you’d forgotten about.

And they’d applaud you over and over for your progress.

And they’d tell you about your future.

About how maybe in a couple of years you could be completely fixed.

You could be released.

It would take a lot of hard work, but you could adapt.

You could be normal.

You liked the idea of that.

You liked the idea of moving forward.

Taking a step outside the stark white walls.

Taking a breath of fresh air.

Becoming a blank slate.

After all, you’d been blank from the start.

And SBURB was simply a game, right?

You’d just lost it a bit there.

So you agreed. 

And they helped you.

You learned.

You grew.

You started over.

And forgot about the red-eyed boy who you could vaguely feel the muted presence of behind you occasionally.

Though sometimes you could feel him smile.

And you smiled too.

Because you were new now.

You were blank.


End file.
